


On the edge

by orphan_account



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gay, I'm Bad At Everything, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm bad at titles too, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Slow Burn, slow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:13:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28801128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: I typically don't post on Ao3, so I'm sorry in advance for any issues!Pretty vanilla slowburn freinds to lovers Technoblade/Philza action.(Tends to follow Phil more then Techno)
Relationships: Technoblade/Philza
Comments: 5
Kudos: 67





	1. Blue

**Author's Note:**

> Please be patient with me! I've never used Ao3 before (Well, I've used it, but not to write on, just to lurk!) so this may take a bit of getting used to for me, so if you have any tips, I'd love to hear them. Thank you for your understanding! <3

"And you're sure you can take care of Friend?" Wilburs- Well, Ghostburs,- shrill voice cuts into Philza's thoughts as he shifts his attention from the mess of art supplies he's attempting to clean up to his literal ghost of a son. "O'course," He responds smoothly, "Friend'll have a great time here. I'm sure we'll have lots of fun." Wilbur eyes him warily at the words as he levitates ever so slightly from the floor, fingers knotted together with nervousness. "Not too much fun right? Because he could get hurt or tired or hungry or-" Phil cuts his rambling off with a soft tut. "I've got him, don't worry," He assures him whilst practically shoving him out the door. He loves Wilbur- How could he not?- But he'd stayed up making lanterns and such with him, and, god, he wasn't good at functioning with little sleep. "Alright. Take care of him, OK?" He says before departing. Friend. Wilbur's blue sheep. Where is the animal, anyways? Probably the spare room. Heading up the stairs, Phil arrives just in time to keep the stupid animal from leaping out of the window, which Wilbur had apparently left open. Snatching the lead, he pulls the sheep back as it struggles to move forwards, wanting to eat the flowers that Phil keeps outside the window. Maybe he should just build it a pen. It's over here so often that Phil reckons that It'd be better in the long run. Besides, Wilbur would be over the moon, which is certainly a plus. Gathering materials, he pulls on a thick coat and some boots, makes sure the window is locked so Friend can't fling itself out of the house, and heads outside.

Techno's house looms to the left of his house, so he'll have to build it to the right. Setting out his materials, he sighs softly when he thinks about the pink haired male who lives next door. He hasn't seen him in a few days; He's been busy with some project in the nether. He'd offered to bring Phil along, but he can't stand the nether still. Not since the accident. He'd never really told Techno too much about it- It was still too fresh in his mind to talk about. He misses talking to him, admiring his odd quirks that he didn't even seem to notice he did. He's sure he'll manage. Besides, maybe a bit of distance will be good. He doesn't know fully how to feel about his pink-haired friend. Maybe it's just grief, from losing Wilbur, from his little accident in the nether, where he nearly died buried deep under ground hiding from piglins in the suffocating heat that draws him closer to Techno, who seems so strong and steady. It's probably not, but Phil can't help but worry. Worry, worry, worry. Seems it's all he does these days.

One hour of working on a pen quickly turns to two, and, before he even knows it, he's spent four hours working on the damned thing. It had to be perfect. Nothing less for Wilbur. By now, he's barely functioning, running on low sleep and no coffee. He'd probably be fine, if he'd have coffee. But Tommy had broken his coffee maker, playing a game of ball with Tubbo in the house. The kid had sworn he'd pay for a new one, but no luck with that yet. At least he was out of Phils hair for a while, at a sleepaway camp. Drowsy, Phil settles down on the ground, cross legged, to fiddle with some intricate woodwork. It's not necessarily, but he hasn't anything else planned, so why not go over the top? If it'll make Wilbur happy, even for a few minutes, it's worth it. Poor Wil. Phil can't even begin to imagine what it's like for him. Sighing ever-so-softly, he does his best to carve shapes into the wood, but his vision is slightly blurry from tiredness, and before long it's obvious he won't be able to continue, for fear of hurting himself. Leaning back, he props himself up on a nearby plank of wood so that he's sitting but slouched, and decides to allow himself a nap. Just a short one, of course. He probably should go inside, but it's oh so warm and comfortable here, in the grass and in the sun. Eyes fluttering shut, he settles back and quickly falls asleep, head lulling against his chest because of his slouched position and swearing to himself that he'll be up in just a few minutes.

_**~~~~** _

"Ghostbur, move," Techno half snaps half hisses as he snatches the hem of the ghosts soft yellow sweater and tugs him roughly down beside him into the little hole he's set up his temporary base, whilst he's here in the nether, hunting for wither skulls. "Oh, sorry. I didn't know. What're you doing? Is it fun? Can I help? Here, have some blue!" The ghost says loudly, shoving some small blue crystals into his hands. Oh, how Techno wanted to just... Shove the kid back where he came from. But he'd promised Phil he'd be nice to him and, should he ever need to, protect him should any harm come to Phil. And it was awful dangerous in the nether, even for a ghost. "Sit down," He commands, and Wilbur quickly does so. "Why're you here?" Techno rumbles, gaze flickering between Ghostburs curious one and the fortress around them. "Oh, well, I told Phil I was gonna go get more blue- Which I do need, but that's not why I'm here," He starts, gesturing animatedly. His voice takes a mischievous note, his eyes wide and happy, "Instead, I'm here! I came to get you!" There's a long pause, and Techno glances at him the way one might look at a rambling toddler. Confused yet endearing. 

"Yeah?" He murmurs, unable to look at him for that long. It's hard for Techno, being around the chipper ghost. He's had such a rough life, and he's so happy and nonchalant about it. It makes Techno nervous. Surely no one is this... Good? So pure and sweet? Swallowing the thoughts, he makes an effort to make sense of Wills words. "Phil seems so lost without you. He's sad with you gone, and no amount of my blue makes him less sad! So I thought... If I can't give him blue to make him happy, what can I give him? What makes Philza Minecraft happy? And then I knew it! You!" He exclaims, grinning proudly. Techno freezes, eyes suddenly wide at the implications of Wilbur's words, whether he knows what he's saying or not. "I don't make him happy like that, Ghostbur. Maybe more blue. I don't see how I can help," He says finally, dismissing the thought that he has the capability to make his friend so happy, and that he was upset when he was gone. Simply impossible. They are nothing more then friends.

"Oh. OK then. I do actually need more blue- speaking of my blue, here, take some more- It's Friends favorite color," He says, getting to his feet. "Have a good day, Mr. Blade!" Will chirps, then wanders off in the opposite direction from which he came. Whatever. Techno dismisses his visit at first as little more then some stupid rambling. He can't make Phil that noticeably happy. Sure, he's probably made him a little more cheerful, but surely not as much as Wilbur's claiming it to be. But why would he lie? What does he have to gain? But if Phil'd really missed him so much when he was gone, why didn't he just come to the nether with him? So many damn questions. They make Techno's head spin in ways he hates, his tummy knotting into pretzels. Does he like Phil? More than in a friendly way? He doesn't know. How can he? Everything is so confusing. So, so confusing, Technoblade thinks as he almost mindlessly slays black, ash colored skeletons. So confusing, he thinks, as he gathers his things. Perhaps he should check in on the blond. It wouldn't hurt, would it? Surely not. 


	2. Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Techno helps out Phil, Wilbur nearly cries, and Phil wonders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a long wait! ~~~~ Means shift to being from someone else's perspective (Well kinda, it's still in third person, but you get the idea) and ~ means time has passed, because I'm to damn lazy to actually do things fully and prefer being lazy. :)

Phil is awoken by the sound of soft, almost silent footfalls next to him on the grass. He knows they belong to Techno; He'd know them anywhere. Always so quiet, you have to strain to hear them, unless he's not trying to be quiet. Even then, they're still so soft, almost like he floats across the ground beneath him. "Mate?" He murmurs softly, voice slurring together from sleep as he does his best to focus his eyes. He must've slept for a while; It's dark out. Rubbing his eyes, he's only slightly startled by the hoglin skull perched carelessly on his friend's face. He normally doesn't wear it. Not in Phil's company, at least. Shrugging it off, he moves to get up, but Techno has already sat down, his long limbs folding gracefully as he settles down next to Phil. "What're you buildin'?" He asks, and Phil sniffles a little, causing the pinkette to eye him with a strange look that Phil knows means he's concerned, even if he doesn't look it.

"A pen for Wilburs sheep," He admits, "I didn't get much sleep last night though and I'm not as good functioning on low sleep as you, so it hasn't turned out the best." Phil laughs a little sheepishly and folds his arms to conserve heat. Techno doesn't comment further, instead shrugging off his bluish grey cape and draping it across Phil, whose face flushes red, just ever so slightly, at the action. Techno's never been the most expressive unless you know him well enough to detect his subtle little tells of emotion. Almost as if he's afraid of giving away too much. Or getting hurt. Phil chooses not to dwell on it, and Techno either doesn't notice the hint of pink tinging his cheeks, doesn't comment or simply thinks it's from the cold. Most likely the latter, Phil assumes, knowing Techno.

"Thanks, mate," He murmurs, sagging back against the wood and pulling the soft fabric tighter around his shoulders. It smells, undeniably, like lavender. Techno leans back as well and blinks up at the clear night sky, hints of the aurora borealis' colorful hues dancing across the sky. It never ceases to amaze Phil, no matter how many times he's seen it. "Beautiful, isn't it?" He hums softly, and Techno glances at him for a moment, a look Phil can't even begin to decode despite his experience with Techno on his features, before mumbling a soft, 'Yeah, it is.' Debating in his mind for a moment, Phil allows himself to lean over and rest his head on Technos shoulder. And, despite the slightest tense in his shoulders that quickly relaxes, he lets it happen. Technoblade, the famed blood god, who never dies and fights without fear, lets it happen. They both go silent, Phil can't help but wonder what's going through the others mind. It's not that he's never been in contact with Techno before, but this feels different, somehow. He's not sure why. Maybe he's just tired. That's probably it.

~~~~

Phil's head. On his shoulder. That's all he's aware of for the moment, and, honestly, he can't help but love the feeling. The closeness. It feels so stupid, to want to melt into the subtle touch. Technos has never been very physical. Never initiating hugs, like BadBoyHalo, nor holding hands with just about anyone and everyone going in the same direction of him, like Tubbo used too, before he changed. He's not even like Ranboo, who, though not always doing it, can be known to just... Randomly choose someone, hovering around them for the rest of the day. No, he's not like any of them. He shys away from the little things. Gets sent into panic when someone grabs onto his arm, touches his shoulder from behind, or curls their arms around his waist in a surprise hug. But with Phil... It feels almost different, somehow. He doesn't want to pull back. Doesn't want to shoo him away. He just wants to stay in the moment, for once. For once, the voices that seem ever present in his mind, screaming for blood, dissecting every little wrong move he makes, go silent. And it's a wonderful feeling, of silence and peace. But he can feel Phil shivering ever so slightly, and, as always, his worrying outweighs his desire for the comfort and bliss of silence.

"You're still shaking," He says, nudging the blond into a sitting position and furrowing his eyebrows. "How long have you been out here?" He can feel a slight hint of panic starting to rise in his throat, a feeling he doesn't like. Worry isn't a good thing, in Technos opinion. It makes you do stupid things, make foolish snap decisions. "I dunno," Philza shrugs, and Techno decides he doesn't like the slight slur in his voice, even if it's from just waking up. nor the way he sniffs once again, nose slightly runny. He hates this. The worry. But part of him thinks, if it's Phil, shouldn't he be worried? He always worries about Phil. Like how he shouts for him to stay back if he spots a baby zombie, or ensures he has a totem of undying if they're doing anything remotely risky, despite the protesting on the blond's part. Maybe, he decides, it isn't too bad, being worried. Doesn't it mean he can protect Phil better? And that's what he wants, isn't it?

He decides to shrug it off, he tuts softly, which makes Phil chuckle. "You're goin' to catch a cold,'' The blood god chides, "Might've caught one already. Come'on, let's go inside, alright?" Ignoring the soft whine of protest, he offers a hand to help the other up, which Phil takes. He wobbles slightly, his legs having been on the verge of falling asleep. Phil stumbles a little as he moves forwards. Techno, unwilling to risk the sleepy male falling over and cracking his head open, he thoughtlessly scoops him up bridal style. This causes Phil to laugh, a rich sound that always seems to have so much power over Techno, never ceasing to make the edges of his lips quirk up into the ghost of a smile. Strange, how just a sound can make his day sway from gloomy to maybe not so bad. Techno doesn't understand it; He isn't sure if he ever will. He's thrust back into the present by another round of wheezing laughter from Phil, and he plops the blond down after he's sure the ground still isn't slippery. Carefully, he guides Phil upstairs, behind him and ready to stop him from tripping backwards and hurting himself.

~~~~

Techno follows Phil in, making sure he's fine with more gentleness then Phil would've expected. After checking to make sure Phil's alright and getting him a cup of water, he turns on his heel and simply leaves, which is somewhat surprising. Had it been anyone else, he'd have worried he'd done something wrong. But this is Technoblade, and Phil knows that's just how he is. Shifting onto his side, it's only now that Phil realizes he's still got the cape wrapped around his shoulders. He'll give it to Techno in the morning, he decides, since the pinkette is already gone and who knows the hell he'd raise if Phil showed up onto his doorstep after he'd made such a fuss about getting him inside. Pulling his green comforter closer, he cozies down into the bed and allows himself to fall asleep, mind filled with thoughts of lavender and stars.

~

Groaning as the sun shines into his eyes, Phil fumbles around for his alarm clock to check the time. 1:26 Pm. 1:26 Pm! He's over slept! Panicking slightly, he rushes around to get his morning routine done. Flinging his bedroom door open, he moves down quickly to check on Friend. Only to find the lapis blue sheep gone. Phil hastily checks the window for any signs of tampering. Nothing! He can't see the Friend outside, either. Nor any tracks. He knows Wilbur hasn't been here, not inside at least. The ghost would've woken him up to give him blue. Scrambling to pull on a hat and scarf, he grabs Technos cape as well, so he can return it once he's found that damned sheep. The second he steps outside, though, he freezes. Because on the right of his house is an animal pen, Friend inside and Ghostbur reaching through it's intricately carved fence to pet the sheep. Wilbur actually has tears in his eyes, Phil realizes, as he steps closer. "You made this? For Friend?" He asks, voice wavering as he blinks up at Phil. "It's incredible," He adds, pulling out a handful of blueish opaque crystals and forcibly shoving them into Phils hands. "I didn't build it," Phil tells him, but Ghostbur seems not to hear, and instead keeps gushing.

"It's gorgeous! Beautiful! I've never seen anything like it. Philza Minecraft, I didn't think you could make something so amazing! Look at Friend! He's so happy!" He gushes, grabbing Phils free hand and pulling him close. "Look, it's me! And Friend! And you!" He announces, pointing to a small carving on the bottom of a fence post that he hadn't noticed at first glance. And Will's right. It is him. Wil chirps on and on, but Phil rather effectively tunes him out, instead focusing on the incredible handiwork of the pen. It must've been Techno who built it- Phil hasn't seen Ranboo in days, and Wilbur obviously didn't make it. But why? Why would Techno do it? Phil doesn't know. Pushing it from his mind, he does his best to focus on Wilburs words as the ghost nudges him excitedly. "Earth to Philza! Earth to Phil!" He giggles, which makes Phil smile. When's the last time he's seen Ghostbur so happy? Even when he was alive, Phil wasn't sure. It's been years. Suddenly, all he can think of is when Wilbur was a kid. Sweet and innocent. He can feel the slight tears pricking into his eyes, as they always seem to do. Where did it all go wrong, for Will to end up so badly? Could he have done anything to stop it? Was it his fault? Being a single father was hard, especially when the gremlin known as Tommy was thrown into the mix. He has to force the thoughts from his head, because he knows he'll just end up crying, thoughts of Wilburs warm body in his arms as he begs for Phil to kill him, a crowd of onlookers in the distance cheering as he thrusts his sword through the body he'd sworn to protect.

"What is it, mate?" He asks, head tilting ever so slightly. "I was telling you that Skeppy's throwing a party! You're invited!" He chirps, handing him a letter with his name in curly handwriting on it. He's about to protest- Parties aren't really his thing- But when Wilbur looks at him, with wide, pleading brown eyes... It's impossible to say no to those eyes, Phil has found. 

~~~~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for your patience, another chapter in coming soon <3  
> Ok Axolotl in a bucket in minecraft is literally the most beautiful thing I've ever fucking seen.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil goes to a party, questions Tubbo, and gets stranded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set before Tommy gets back from exile, by the way!

Chp 3 start 

“Blue! Wear the blue one!” Ghostbur enthuses, shoving a blue sweatshirt in Phils direction. After a while, he’d given in to the ghosts' fascination with the party. Will’s extremely excited, to say the least. Phil doesn’t get his fascination with it, to be honest. But if it makes Will happy, then he’s willing to do it. “Come on! We’re gonna be late!” He gushes, grabbing Phils hand and pulling him along cheerfully. It’s all the blonde can do not to flinch. No matter how many times Wilbur touches him, Phils sure he’ll never get over the coldness. It’s not freezing by any means, but startling. He seems so alive, so full of life, despite the fact that he’s anything but. It’s a little thought, but it always nags at him, constantly in his mind whenever he’s around the cheerful ghost. You did this; It’s your fault he’s like this.

Shaking it off the best he can, Phil follows closely behind the brunette. A little guilty, he pulls his hand out of Wilburs cold one and wipes it on his pants, thankful they’re black and don’t show the blue smudge. He isn’t sure why, but sometimes Ghostburs touches leave blue marks. On L’mangburg and it’s ruins. On Friend, on little nick nacks Will picks up and hands out. And on Phil, sometimes Tommy. Perhaps it’s just a little quirk of his, but something makes Phil think it’s more. 

“Ghostbur! Philza! Come in!” A cheerful voice cuts into his musing, and he blinks up into the darkness of Badboyhalos cloak. Curiously, it’s highlights are white rather than its usual red, but he chooses not to think too far into it, much like he chooses to ignore the way Bad’s voice seems slightly different, raspier than before. He herds them into a large, lavish crowded room where people are perched on sofas, huddling around tables filled with snacks. Phil is even pretty sure he can see Skeppy, looking grumpy and perched dangerously high up on a window sill. 

Music blares loudly, a cheery pop tune. They’ve even put in colored light bulbs, causing patches of the room to be lit up in various colors. Wilbur lets out a loud, happy squeal and darts off before Phil can stop him, and so he stands alone, shuffling his feet awkwardly. He knows most of the people here, but surely they hold some ill will towards him, seeing as he helped explode a good portion of their homes with Techno? No one, however, displays any hostility. Spotting Tubbo, he decides to head over, seeing as the brunette is standing on his own.

He misses the days when Tubbo and Tommy were still young, playing silly games together in the backyard while Phil watched, always ready to settle any disputes or administer bandaids to the various minor injuries the kids would get. “Tubbo,” He says loudly, his voice almost drowned out as he reaches over to nudge the younger's shoulder. He turns with slightly startled blue eyes that don’t relax much when they meet Phils. “Oh. Erm, hi Phil,” He says finally, looking nervous. He’s different now. No longer quite so sweet. Of course, he was always portrayed much softer by many of the others Phil knew, but he knew the kid could hold his own, no question. 

“You seem nervous,” Phil comments, eyes narrowing ever so slightly at the youth in question, who doesn’t respond for a few minutes. “Tommy’s at summer camp right now, but I’m sure he’d love it if you came over to hang out when he gets back,” Philza finally says, gazing evenly into blue eyes that widen at the words. “Is… Is that where he told you he went?” Tubbo asks, a look in his eyes that Phil can’t even begin to decode. 

“Of course. He’s not lying, is he?” Phil questions tilting his head slightly and narrowing his eyes. Something is wrong. He can tell; Tubbo’s been different, since he became president. But not so different Phil can’t read him, even if it’s difficult. “Tubbo.” His voice takes a different tone, both comforting and commanding. Tubbos eyes prick with tears, and he turns away suddenly, tearing his shoulder out from where Phil had gently rested a hand. “I’m so sorry.” He says, his voice nearly inaudible as he disappears into the crowd. 

Phil struggles forwards, fingers stretching out to grab at Tubbos shirt. But they grasp at thin air, and the brunette is gone before Phil can stop him. Confused, he halts sharply. What’s going on? What has Tubbo to be sorry for? And what on earth does it have to do with Tommy? Phil is just about to go after him, deciding answers are what he needs, when Wilbur grabs his arm. 

He’s startled, nearly swatting the ghost away before relaxing slightly as Ghostbur clings to his arm. Phil wasn’t aware he was so close, but perhaps it’s better this way, and Wilbur can help him find Tubbo. “Hey, Will. What's going on?” He murmurs gently. The other glances at him with wide, terrified eyes, and shoves against his side. “We need to go. You need to go,” He says, and Phil lets out a soft soothing sound. “Hey, it’s alright. Are you OK? Did something happen?” He asks, letting the ghost push him towards a room to the side. 

The music cuts off suddenly with an unsatisfying crackle. This seems to startle Will, who’s pushing becomes much more frantic. “Hello, friends,” echos a voice. Bad’s, though it sounds even more off than before. Digging his heels into the ground, Phil effectively stops Wilbur from pushing as he spots Bad holding onto a certain blue eyed president by his wrist as the other struggles. Ghostbur repeats that they must leave, but Phil ignores him, instead moving in the opposite direction from the room he’s being pushed in. His fingers play against the handle of his sword; No matter how strange Tubbo acts, he’ll never stop protecting him.

“Our ‘beloved’ president here has tried to tamp us down,” Phil can feel a sinking feeling in his stomach, batting Will away from him as he listens to every word, “He has tried to keep down the influence of the egg,” Wilbur lets out a soft cry and shoves Philza away with a unexpected burst of strength. The ghosts fingers curl around his arm so tightly it stings as a loud crack echos through the room and a potion slams into the ground, scattering its contents everywhere and dousing everyone in a light grey liquid that dries quickly and leaves them feeling woozy and dizzy, though Wilbur seems not to be effected. “But we will RISE!” Bad roars, his voice terrifyingly powerful and confident.

He’s unable to resist as Ghostbur pulls on his arm. His muscles refuse to work as they should as he weakly struggles to turn back, telling Wilbur that he has to go back, that Tubbo needs his help. But the brunette ignores him, taking him into a dark room glowing with the signature glow of an nether portal, as well as its moans and groans. “What-”

“You need to go through, it’s not safe here,” Wilbur cries out softly, “It’s not safe, you need to go. Please, please!” Phil claws away from the portal, desperate not to go through. “Wilbur, I don’t have a mask, Will, please-” He chokes out, fear consuming him. He can’t go back. He can’t.   
But his begging is useless. Wilbur hugs him tightly, burying his head into his shoulders, then shoves him roughly through the portal, repeating that this is the only way. The last thing he hears before the purple consumes is Tubbo screaming, and it seems to haunt him. 

The second he’s through and on his feet, he moves to head back. But it’s frame is shattered. It’s been broken, Phil realizes. It’s been broken from the other side. He inhales sharply, choking on the dusty, ash filled air. He can’t breath. He can’t breath!

Phil gags slightly, clawing at his throat as he crumples into a tight ball. He hates it. He hates it. He’s never been drawn to the nether, and ever since the accident, where he was left stranded in the nether with only his wits and a sword, it’s been unbearable to be here. He’d been attacked, left for dead by piglins. Curled up and shaking violently, trying to staunch the constant flow of blood. Wilbur had shown up, helped patch him up and taken him home to recover. 

Wilbur’s forgotten this memory, Phil assumes, or he’s sure he wouldn’t be here. He manages a strangled gasp of air, doing his best to collect himself from the sudden attack of panic that had surged through him. He coughs loudly, a hollow, hacking sound that echoes slightly in the broken room around him. 

Most people are fine in the nether without some form of mask. But Phils always been different, the smoke and ash never failing to make him cough painfully for days to weeks on end. 

Struggling to get back on his feet, he ends up leaning against the stone behind him and gathering himself. He’ll have to go back home, travel through the nether and go through Technos portal to get back. Or any portal, really. He doesn’t have the foggiest where he is, but Phils sure he’ll find something. 

At least, he thinks, he’s got some gold on him, and he’ll hopefully not be attacked. He still feels woozy as he gently pulls the emerald necklace, given to him by Techno, out from under his sweatshirt, groaning softly. It’s chain is golden, so he’s hopeful it’s enough he’ll be left alone. He’s so damn tired. 

Staggering slightly, he moves out the door, choking once again on the ash, stronger now that he’s out of the building encasing the portal. Phil keeps moving, focusing his gaze on his shoes as he squishes across the netherrack. 

God, he hates this block. It’s so… Squishy and gross. Frowning to himself, he rubs a hand over his eyes, deciding he should find somewhere safe and rest. He has an aching suspicion that the potion he- and the rest of the folks at the party, of course- were dosed with was a mix of nausea, weakness and mining fatigue. This is all but confirmed when he’d taken his pickaxe out to help himself up a cliff and had been unable to do much other than drive it into the netherrack. 

Groaning softly, Phil rests his head against the red material. Exhaustion seems to overwhelm him, but he knows he can’t stop. Blinking up at the top of the cliff, he can just make out the obsidian of a portal. 

He’s pretty sure it’s the portal home- Strangely enough, he can’t quite remember where Technos portal is. He supposes it’s because he hasn’t used it much. It’s all a blur. Coughing, he can taste the coppery taste of blood on his lips, and realizes that he’s much worse off than originally thought. 

Phil doesn’t remember sitting down, but he’s on the ground, back against the warm rock. It’s so hot, and he’s so tired and thirsty. Perhaps just a small break, he decides. 

It couldn’t hurt, could it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3

**Author's Note:**

> It's a bit short, but ehhh


End file.
